by Jessa James
I couldn't answer.
“Show me.”
My mouth fell open but no words came out.
“Show me,” he repeated. “Lift your skirt and show me the sexy, naughty things you're wearing.”
It was the heat in his eyes, a look I'd never seen before, that had me doing as he'd asked. Slowly I lifted the hem of my skirt. At first, his brown eyes held my gaze like a magnet, then dropped to watch as more of my thighs were revealed. I could feel the air on my bare skin above the stockings and he groaned as my garter was revealed. He kissed me before my skirt lifted enough for him to see my matching panties. It seemed just the stockings and garter was enough. Too much.
It made me feel feminine and very powerful.
His kiss intensified as he pushed me back against the wall, his hand roaming the back of my ass, dipping lower to touch my pussy from behind.
It was my turn to whimper with need when his fingers discovered the tiny scrap of material that passed for g-string underwear beneath my skirt. Impatient, he shoved the material aside with deft fingers and explored my wet folds.
“Emma.”
“Carter.”
“You're dripping. Is this all for me?” He rubbed his fingers through my slick folds, over my clit. Back and forth, not entering me.
Of course I was wet for him. No one else had ever made me like this.
“Let me make you feel good.”
I couldn’t talk, not with his fingers so close to where I needed him to be.
“Emma?”
“Carter.” I sighed into his mouth and claimed a kiss of my own as I shifted my hips back and forth, riding his fingers. I wanted this. Needed it. I didn’t care if it was foolish and reckless. I was more than ready to break my own rules tonight. Wild, sexy women didn’t have rules. And Carter made me feel like I was both.
Then his hand was gone.
“No.” I was so needy, so wound up, I would literally break into tears if he left me now.
“Shhh, Emma. I’ve got you.”
I sighed as his touch returned, this time running up the inside of my thigh from the front. I lowered my leg to the floor, my feet wide to give him access to my wet core.
“Look at me,” he ordered and I opened my eyes to comply. His gaze locked onto mine as he gently filled me with one finger. I held on, gripping his rock hard biceps, keeping my eyes on his gorgeous face until he pushed the thickness of his hard palm to my clit and started fucking me with his hand.
I thought I couldn’t get any hotter, and more desperate, but his free hand lifted to my breast, squeezed the hard nipple through the thin material of my dress and lace bra.
When I gasped, he lowered his head once more, kissing me as his finger moved inside me.
Someone knocked on the bathroom door and I stiffened, but Carter squeezed my nipple again and nipped at my lip. He pulled away, staring down at me as he used more force to fuck me, nearly lifting me off my feet. “You’re mine right now. Ignore them.”
As if to prove his point, he increased the speed of his moving fingers, the rhythm of his palm rubbing my clit. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head up for his kiss. I didn’t want to think about the fact that I was in a bar, in the damn bathroom. I only wanted to think about Carter, about his hands, his mouth, his dominant touch.
He rubbed and fucked me with fingers and tongue until I felt completely overwhelmed, as if he was already inside me.
Hard. Fast. Stop.
Slow. Fast. Stop.
His touch drove me mad, until I whimpered and begged. “Carter, please.”
“Do you want to come?”
“Yes.”
“You’re mine, Emma. Say you’re mine.”
“Yes.” I would have agreed to anything. I was so close. The orgasm building inside me like a tornado caught inside a paper house. I wasn’t going to be able to hold on.
Carter shifted again, his body pressed to mine, his arm trapped between us. His forehead met mine, but I did not open my eyes. I didn’t want to know if he was watching me. I didn’t care.
“Then come for me. I want to watch you give everything to me.”
He increased his rhythm, but this time, he didn’t stop, didn’t slow when I whimpered, when the desire built to a fever pitch. This time, he pushed me over and stole my cry, swallowed it down in his kiss as my pussy pulsed around his finger. This was nothing like my vibrator. Nothing.
His soft groan made me feel sexy, edgy, dangerous. And I knew, if we’d been truly alone, I would have let him do anything he wanted. I would spread my legs and beg him to take my virginity, to make me his.
That last thought was like a splash of ice-cold water. As was the insistent knocking at the door. “Hello? Are you all right in there?”
“Someone get the manager. They have to have a key.”
“I really need to go. I hope they hurry up.”
“Just use the men’s room.”
The voices were all feminine, and impatient. I knew they’d have the door unlocked soon, and here I stood, with Carter’s hand up my skirt and my juices all over his fingers. He lifted them to his mouth and licked them. He held my gaze as he tasted me and suddenly I couldn’t get the image of his mouth on my clit out of my head. His tongue. Those lips. What would those lips do to me later? Was this even real? I was hooking up in the bathroom with a freaking billionaire who gave a whole new meaning to the words lip service. Oh God.
What the hell was I thinking?
Chapter 4
Emma
Carter Buchanan stared down at me like I was his favorite treat as the voices continued outside the door. He lowered his hand from his lips to the vee between my legs and pressed against me, just holding, as if afraid I would move away from him. He wiggled his fingers, teasing, and I moaned. I couldn’t help it. That orgasm blew my mind, sure, but something worse was happening here. I wanted more.
More Carter.
Bad Decisions 101. That was a class, right? And the very first fucking rule? Don’t sleep with the boss. Rule number two? Don’t sleep with players. Carter Buchanan was notorious for the supermodels and actresses he dated, not just for his billionaire family.
I shuddered as Carter nuzzled the side of my neck, his grip possessive and raw, down there. Like he owned me now. Like that orgasm gave him rights.
“Come home with me, Emma.”
I shoved at his chest as keys rattled in the lock. He stepped back and adjusted my skirt as if straightening a woman’s clothing was the most natural thing in the world.
For him, maybe it was. For me? Well, I was so far out of my league I had no idea what to do or say. Hell, I didn’t even know where to look. I couldn’t even glance at him, at his sexy dark hair and chiseled chin. At those thick, very skilled lips. Looking at his hand was worse, because his palm was thick and strong, the fingers long and thick. When I looked, my thoughts got wrapped up in the fog of what those fingers felt like inside me. Touching me.
My body wanted more, more, more.
But my mind? That abandoned organ I’d forgotten how to use the last few minutes, was screaming at me to run. Fast.
“I'm not interested,” I lied, just before the door burst open and a stream of curious women filled the small room. When I saw the second knowing grin, I ducked my head, scooted around Carter and bolted out the door, past the dance floor and the bar, straight for the front door.
No purse. The only things I needed, my cell phone, ID and credit card, were stored in my bra, nestled between the girls.
“Emma, wait!” Carter’s order registered as he followed me, winding through the dancing bodies and the tables filled with drinking singles looking for a hook-up after work. But I wasn’t listening. I was running. He was too much. No. I was too much. Ridiculous, letting him finger me in the bathroom like a horny teenager.
So, Carter Buchanan wanted me.
Wait. Scratch that. He didn't want me, quiet, uptight, organized Emma, the grad student. He wanted to fuck. Take my virginity. Pop my cherry. Tonight. Now. Somehow
, knowing that I was a virgin made him turn from cool, disinterested professional to caveman.
Did he only want me for a novelty? How many virgins had he taken to bed? Was that like a thing for him? Being the first?
“You want to get laid, Emma, I'm right here.”
Oh. My. God.
He knew. God, he knew I was a virgin. He must have heard me talking to Tori earlier.
It wasn't nerves that made my hands shake, it was embarrassment. Embarrassment over what we'd done, the pseudo walk-of-shame when we'd walked out of the bathroom to the knowing and amused looks from the waiting women.
“Come home with me.” He'd said the words I'd dreamed about, longed for, since the first day on the job. And now, I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. Obviously, the orgasm he'd given me had short-circuited my brain.
I'd let Carter Buchanan, the man I'd been secretly lusting after all year, finger fuck me in the bathroom. I'd lost my mind. Begged him not to stop.
He was good. Really, really good and that had just been his hand.
I turned my head to track his movements and saw someone from work grab his arm, stopping him for a chat. Thank God. Not up for small talk, I kept on walking, right out the front entrance. When the cool evening air hit my cheeks, the last of my orgasm faded and reality set in. Shaking as I pulled my cell from my bra, I tried to focus on the positive. At least Carter hadn’t run for the hills like Jim from accounting. Maybe being a unicorn wasn’t the single woman’s kiss of death for dating.
Carter wanted me. Or, at the very least, he was willing to take my virginity. Pop my cherry.
In the year I'd worked at Buchanan Industries, he'd never once let on that he was interested in me. Not once. Not a heated stare, not an inappropriate comment, not even an accidental brush of his arm against mine. Nothing.
Of course there were sexual harassment laws that would have shut him down if he did anything at the office, but nope. Nada. Not even one lingering stare. Absolutely zero interest.
The same could not be said about me. I’d been the idiot, lusting after him the moment I laid eyes on him. But I was a middle-class, suburban girl from Denver. He was ten years older, worldly, well-traveled and experienced with women…and everything else.
On day one, when Ford had introduced me to his brother, the other admins couldn’t wait to get me alone. The moment that office door closed on the sexy, single Buchanan brothers, they’d surrounded me with their wild tales. I'd learned that if I slept with Carter, I’d be just another pussy in a long line of conquests he’d taken to bed. And, even knowing that, I'd still wanted him. God, did I.
“You’re hopeless.” I waived my hand in an unsuccessful attempt to flag down a taxi. As the yellow and black car whizzed past I sent Tori a quick text.
I’m going home.
Her response was immediate. CB is chasing you. Get caught.
I had to blink twice, slowly, and reread the words just to make sure I wasn’t losing it. Get caught.
That was so not happening. He’s my boss.
For a week. And you already quit. Doesn’t count. Live a little, unicorn girl. What do you have to lose?
What did I have to lose? My virginity, but I didn’t care to keep that. My mind? I squelched a burst of laughter at that thought. Too late. All logic and basis in reality had been lost up against the wall in the bathroom. Worse than that, I could lose my heart.
I could sleep with a stranger and keep my feelings out of it. But with Carter, that might be impossible. Robotic, unemotional fucking was not what I imagined when Carter came to mind. No, more like mind-blowing, never get over him, sex.
Slowly, so slowly, I breathed deep, trying to cool off and think. The night air was refreshing after the stuffy club. The pulsing music was muted once the door shut behind me. There was a small line of people waiting to get inside at the front and a bouncer checking ID's. I wasn't alone on the street, but I felt that way.
Teetering on my high heels, I started down the block to flag a taxi. I'd embarrassed myself enough for one night. Swallowing down tears that sprang to my eyes from nowhere, I lifted my arm when a taxi came down the street, dropped it when it cruised right on by. Damn it. What the hell?
I sighed. My shoulders drooped.
“What are you doing? You shouldn't be out here by yourself.”
I spun on my ridiculously high heels at Carter's voice.
He was so handsome. I couldn't be mad at him for that. His gorgeousness wasn't his fault; he'd been born that way. I couldn't really even be mad for, well, anything, because he'd given me just what I'd wanted. Well, almost. I was at the club tonight with one goal, just one, to get laid. He was willing.
I lifted my phone, then glanced down, let my thumbs fly over the screen, sending one more quick note to my friend. “Texting Tori. I told her I’m going home.”
“We're not done, Emma.” His words stilled my fingers. When he stepped closer, he stilled my breathing.
I heard a car coming down the street. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw it was another taxi and hailed it.
Carter came up beside me and when the taxi pulled to the curb, waved off the driver who flipped him off and kept going.
I looked up at him. Way up. I only came to his chin, even in my heels. “What are you doing? That was my ride home.”
The gorgeous man beside me infuriated me so much. How dare he mess with me like this!
“I'll take you.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I said, “I told you, I'm not interested.”
“You are,” he countered. “If the way you dripped all over my fingers was any indication.” He took my elbow and led me back toward the club, stopping to hand his ticket to the man at the valet stand. I stood next to him as we waited for his car, his hand warm against my bare skin. Goose bumps spread down my arms.
He leaned close and kissed the side of my neck again. The shiver that passed through me was like electric shock therapy. “We're not done, sweetheart. Far from it. Let me take you home. You want your virginity gone? I'll take it and you won't remember your own name when I'm done.”
Yeah, and he probably wouldn't remember mine. I was mad at myself for wanting to be something more to him than a quick fuck. But that wasn’t fair. Was this any different than whatever guy I would have picked up off the dance floor? I didn't care if mystery guy was a man slut or that I would be just another notch on his bedpost. My only criteria for selecting a man tonight had been simple. One, did he have a cock? Two, was he willing to fuck me with it? I wanted to get rid of my virginity. I didn’t want to be a virgin unicorn any longer.
So, no. I didn’t care about the theoretical man I was going to sleep with tonight. But Carter wasn’t theoretical. Carter was fucking Carter Buchanan. Billionaire. Bad boy. Man-whore. And so far out of my league, even having this conversation was a joke. So, technically, Carter was no different than any other man in that stupid club. But that was the problem. That was it. I wanted him to be different. I wanted him to be so much more. And there were those pesky emotions again.
He looked at me cautiously, as if afraid I'd dash out into the street and get run over if he so much as blinked wrong.
“You don't want this, I'll take you home. I'll say goodnight at the door.” He raised a hand to my cheek, his touch gentle, reverent, like I mattered. God, he was dangerous. “But I think you want this as much as I do, Emma. Say yes. Let me take you home with me.”
I stared up at him, into his gorgeous face and tried to remember why this was a bad idea. “Carter, I just don’t think this, us, is a good idea.”
“Why not?” His thumb brushed over my lip and his gaze dropped to my mouth before returning to my eyes with complete focus. It was like no one else in the world existed.
Hell. Now I was in trouble. I couldn’t tell him the truth. Well, Carter, I’m half in love with you already, and if you pop my cherry and walk away, you’ll break my heart.
I took a step back, breaking contact, so I could think. “I’m not…I
don’t…”
He stood still and waited, so confident, so damn sure of himself. That was why he owned the company, and that was why I was so nervous. He knew what he was doing in the business world, and with women. I knew hardly anything about men. But I knew enough to know that Carter Buchanan was way out of my league. And yet he made me so hot I could barely breathe.
This was what I'd wanted, a one-night stand, and he was willing to give it to me. He wasn't a faceless man. He was the one man I'd wanted to sleep with. Based on the feel of his cock as he'd leaned into me in the bathroom, he was big and hard. Really big. And really hard.
I could do this. I could fuck Carter. He'd make my first time good. Our first time, hell, our only time. I was a big girl. I’d heard all the rumors about Carter Buchanan. Playboy. I would be one of many. It shouldn't bother me, especially since whatever random guy I might have picked up at the bar would have a history, too. A history I wasn't interested in. So, was it fair to hold Carter to a higher standard than a stranger? Was I denying myself the experience of a lifetime if I said no?
He was standing in front of me, patiently waiting for me to say yes. While he was gentleman enough to gain my consent, I knew he'd be anything but gentle once we got into bed.
The thought made my core clench and my pulse race. I wanted him. That was the bottom line. Time to cowgirl up. I could do this. I could fuck him and leave him. No emotional bullshit. One night.
End. Of. Fucking. Story.
But it would be one hell of a night and when the sun came up, I'd no longer be a virgin. Just what I'd wanted. I'd know what it felt like to be fucked by Mr. Carter Buchanan, get the orgasms I wanted—based on the way he mastered me with just his hand, I had no doubt he'd give me more—and leave.
One night.
A valet held the passenger door to a luxury sedan open for me. Carter tipped him and took my hand to help me into the passenger seat. The car was expensive, Italian, the supple leather taunting me to enter my own personal purgatory. My hand burned where he touched me and I looked at him, burying all the doubts I had about this deep so they wouldn’t show in my eyes. “Your house or mine?”